


a force of nature

by traiyadhvika



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M, craig is a wildlife photographer, stan is a park ranger, that's all you need to know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 07:43:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14420772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traiyadhvika/pseuds/traiyadhvika
Summary: Stan should never have taken this job.Kenny had been right; he needs a break. Should’ve gone back home to hang out with Kenny and Karen or taken some overnight bus to hole out at Kyle’s for a few days. Not…this. Not staring at his former classmate’s ass and wondering about his workout routine out in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere.





	a force of nature

**Author's Note:**

> i took a trip to this area a couple years ago and as someone who's lived in a warm climate all her life: why is it still so cold in april. its so unnecessary? why.
> 
> idk how to and am not that comfortable with writing smut atm so! there's none here (there is uhh other action, however.)  
> also there's platonic stenny kissing mentioned somewhere for like 2 sentences
> 
> this is just a really ?? fic in general but they are 2 stupid young...people who i've aged up to their mid20s too so...there's that.

“We are,” Craig declares atop their Jeep with its engine still running, “Not fucking going back in there.”

Stan wants a sedative.

It’s like this: they’ve been scouring Grand Teton for signs of wolves for the past two days, and now after being run out of a nearby trail by a particularly angry-looking skunk he’s almost wishing he’s back at the checkpoint waving in tourists.

“Can’t you just,” he says as they slowly descend from the hood once the coast is all clear, “Maybe not kick up a skunk nest next time.”

“Thought you were supposed to be on the lookout for shit like that, Ranger Marsh.”

“I’m not here to baby you, asshole.”

Man, _screw_ this assignment. He should’ve asked for leave this week like Kenny did. Instead Stan’s stuck here having to take around some asshole photographer from National Geographic who just so happens to be his childhood...acquaintance looking to do yet another wolf shoot. Haven’t the magazines gotten enough of those already? If Craig gets another dumbass comment in Stan’s gonna bear mace him.

Maybe he’ll get eaten by the wolves. That’s a comforting thought, as unlikely as it is something that will happen. Wolves are shy, gentle creatures once you get to know them. Not so Craig Tucker.

Craig’s on the ground before he is; his legs seem to have gotten even longer, Stan’s noticed. He also wouldn’t be bad looking if he could lose that permafrown on his face, but then again it’s been stuck that way since elementary school. Stan pinches his nose and sighs, shaking those thoughts away. It's when dumb thoughts like these float to the front of his mind that he knows he really needs to get away from it all.

“You don’t have to,” Craig says. He adjusts the straps on his backpack as he turns away from Stan. “I’m won’t fall off the trail. Go like, save some lost children or something.”

“Yeah,” Stan says, flicking a leaf from his shoulder. “I’ve totally never heard that one before.”

There’s a rumble in the distance where another four-wheeler comes down the road closest to them, and then three more. They’re a little too close to civilization still; Stan could see a vein on Craig’s forehead twitching as he shuts the door with more gusto than needed. “Take me around Oxbow Bend.”

Stan’s given up meat since he was sixteen, but right now he would eat Craig alive just for some semblance of quiet. At least animals have the decency to leave you alone and not wheedle you for free rides (that one time with the injured porcupine doesn’t count.)

He drives.

It’s a beautiful day out, though Stan’s not sure how much Craig is really appreciating it versus just trying to get his job done. A few days before Craig got here Stan had scrolled through the little gallery he found on his website blurb, looked at a few pictures there, then at the ones on Facebook. He’ll chalk it up to nostalgia kicking in a little (only a little; he hadn’t really been keeping up with everyone from back home apart from Kyle, and Kenny who’s probably only here for this season.) Maybe Stan can’t appreciate photography as an art form, but there’s no way in hell you’d want a moose so close to the camera like it’s a cat or guinea pig.

Craig isn’t stupid enough to try to walk up to a moose (unfortunately), hence the pile of equipment in the back. Stan knows expensive equipment when he sees it, considering the number of veteran editors who do tromp around frequently almost every season. It’s just that he’s never been asked to babysit before. Especially not for someone his own age.

 _He doesn’t really get along with anyone back in the office_ , the assignment email had said, a smidgen apologetically. Craig _had_ come in with a team, but the rest of them had split off and headed to Yellowstone before Stan could get in more than a peep about being assigned to this task. _Maybe having someone he knows around will keep him out of trouble._

(Right—Craig hadn’t even bothered giving him his number, never mind that it’s probably buried in Stan’s work emails somewhere. He's stuck supervising the asshole anyway, so what gives.)

The breeze is clean and fresh on his face, whipping away those thoughts almost as soon as they hit the curve where Jenny Lake begins. He sees a few fair tourists hanging around near the ranger station as they pass by, but luckily the traffic isn’t as bad as it will get in a few weeks. Craig, for his part, says nothing as they continue on through tall, solemn pines with a dusting of the previous day’s snow still visible above the loamy soil.

“Nothing like DC, huh.”

“Yeah,” Craig replies, surprising Stan. His profile says he’s been at the office there since he got out of college, three years ago, but this is the first time either of them have bothered to talk about—well, anything that’s not bickering. Stan doesn't even know if this was something he'd majored in. “It’s hell.”

“Yeah?”

Stan stops, then carefully maneuvers the car around a family of beavers crossing the road as Craig watches, taking out his phone to snap a picture. Something for Instagram, or whatever it is he’s using it for.

“There’s an office back in Evergreen,” he drops, conversationally. Craig eyes him with something like passing curiosity before closing his eyes and leaning further into his seat. “You ever think about moving back west?“

“Too close to people like you,” Craig says, but there’s no heat in his voice this time. He sounds a little tired.

Stan rolls his eyes and trains them back onto the road again. “I’m not there either, dude.”

At the gate Stan flashes his ID at the guy—some new kid he’s never seen before—who lets him in. The main road’s closed until next week to everyone apart from authorized park vehicles, and it’s a hell of a beautiful drive when there’s nobody else but him and Spalding Bay on his left, gleaming blue and grey through the trees. Craig’s asleep or pretending to be, and well—that’s his loss.

Sometimes it’s boring out in the boondocks, yeah, but Stan wouldn’t trade it for anything (maybe a farm in the future, but until then.)

“Don’t you get tired of seeing so much of this,” Craig says suddenly around forty minutes in, just as they’re crossing over Snake River. His eyes are still closed. “Like, it absolutely sucks ass out east, but.”

“I thought you were here to take pictures of you know, this.”

“Doesn’t mean it was my decision to get sent out here.”

“Well life ain’t fair, Tucker.” He’s looking far too cozy in his seat there for Stan to not want to tip him out the window. Then he sees Craig's hand wander towards his jeans pocket. “And don’t even think about smoking until you’re back in whatever shithole hotel they set you up in.”

“Mm-hmm.”

The tiny parking space is deserted apart from someone’s dilapidated motorbike—there’s no identification on it save a two-day expired park pass, so Stan leaves Craig to set up his equipment as he calls the main office.

“What, someone got lost?” Craig says as Stan walks over to look at him fiddle with the tripod. April’s still cold enough for the ground to be as hard as it is, but Stan doesn’t bother to help. He’ll probably break it with the kind of luck he has right now. “Going off on some search and rescue mission?”

“Nah, probably just some kid who sneaked past the guards.”

A few deer graze peacefully on the other side of the river, completely unaware of the goings-on on their side. Craig is meticulous to a fault if nothing else; Stan watches him adjust the little dials with the same kind of concentration one would use to handle a weapon, with care.

The reception out here is shit, so all Stan can do is watch Craig do his thing as he’s done for the past two days from the car (no way he’s standing out there for that long, and he can’t wander off either in case the fucker falls into the water or something.)

He’s got a nice ass, Stan admits, staring at it from his vantage point. At least that's something he can focus on. Craig’s attention is almost singular on his job, and there’s no way he could see Stan ogling from where he’s standing. Like, really, there’s _no_ fucking reason for his ass being that nice. Maybe he goes to one of those yuppie gyms Kyle sometimes frequents now that he’s in a proper city too.

…Shit.

Stan looks down at his phone at what feels like mach speed the moment Craig moves his head even slightly, feeling a telltale warmth flushing over his cheeks as he does so. _Shit_. He’s definitely been out here for far too long if these are the kind of thoughts coming over him. Kenny had been right; he needs a break. Should’ve gone back home to hang out with Kenny and Karen or taken some overnight bus to hole out at Kyle’s for a few days. Not…this. Not staring at his former classmate’s ass and wondering about his workout routine out in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere.

Unsurprisingly, bad decisions seem to follow him everywhere, no matter how old he gets.

“Yo, Marsh, still on earth?”

Stan almost shoots out of his seat like an arrow, knocking Craig’s hand right into the dashboard. He hears the other man curse. When the fuck had he gotten over here? “Cr—dude, don’t do that!”

“I’m not the one spacing out over nothing.”

“It’s not—forget it,” Stan mutters, shifting aside as Craig goes around the front and eases into passenger seat, long legs knocking against his thigh in—an accident. Surely. “You done? Can we go now?”

“Nope.” Craig has the nerve to _smirk_ at him as he shoves the scraggly park map in front of Stan’s face, tapping at Uhl Hill marked in small block letters. “I wanna check this place out one more time.”

Stan drags his hands down his face, wishing—hoping—Craig’s paying more attention to his camera roll than the heat on Stan’s face. “I hate you _so_ much.”

He’s probably having a meltdown over nothing, all things considered. Stan’s not dated in a while, but his preferences are nothing he’s kept particularly secret since high school. Hell, he’s probably kissed Kenny more than a few times while smashed after a particularly tiresome day hauling wood, though that’s less romantic than…just something they did. _Focus_ , Stan tells himself. _Absolutely do not think about the fact that you’d seen Craig listed as single on Facebook, never mind that he's probably not updated that in years._ He can deal with this later, online.

He also, desperately, needs a drink.

“You were creeping on me earlier,” Craig says, casually, like he’s just talking about the weather and not trying to cause them to veer off into the river with a single sentence. Stan stares straight ahead, fingers gripped tight around the wheel. “Yesterday, too. Guess I’m not surprised, though, there’s nothing out here.”

“Keep your eyes on the camera, Tucker,” Stan growls. The green of the trees are starting to blur together into one as he watches the number on the speedometer decrease.

“Camera's not looking like it wants to eat me.”

Stan’s left thinking of a retort that won’t result in physical violence and a restraining order; he feels Craig’s eyes burning holes into the side of his head. “If you try anything I swear I’ll—”

“Keep driving, Marsh, I’m not dumb. I don’t wanna end up wound around a fucking cypress, and neither do you.”

“…”

By the time they arrive it’s nearly four, giving them just under half an hour to do—well, anything. There are no wolves in sight; it doesn’t seem to bother Craig, who hops off the Jeep like their previous conversation hadn’t happened at all.

Stan stumbles out of the car after him. “Hey, Tucker, what the fuck.”

“I’m trying to work, as you can see.”

“You’re getting your ass back in the car,” Stan says, grabbing hold of Craig’s shoulder and turning him around. A flash of surprise across his eyes takes Stan aback, for a moment. “There’s a fine if you get too close—”

“Like you’re really gonna fine me,” Craig retorts tersely, but he slinks back into the seat anyway, camera clutched tightly in hand. Stan’s fingers still feels odd from where he’d touched him, static-shocked, but he looks away resolutely in silence as they sit there, waiting.

Five minutes pass, then ten. It’s getting a little cold, and Stan wishes he could shut the window.

A rabbit hops by, sniffing at the grass at the side of the road. It’d be nice to be a rabbit, Stan thinks. There’s no purpose in life anyway. Might as well be something cute and—

“Fuck this,” Craig mutters, lowering his camera. He carefully refits the lens cap and slides the straps off his head, black hair windswept and wild. The camera goes in the back seat; he turns around and looks straight at Stan, who by this time has given up even trying to pretend like he’s not trying to meet Craig’s gaze. “Come here.“

Things that happen in the park, stay in the park. Stan doesn’t have the luxury to ruminate on that further before he feels his lips mashing against Craig’s, hard.

Craig tastes like too-sweet cherry chapstick, which is ironic, in the grand scheme of things. The way he holds himself against Stan’s body is anything but, though at this point Stan’s easily the more muscular of the two. “You’re too fucking skinny,” he hisses as Craig’s bony-ass elbow buries itself hard into his thigh. Craig laughs quietly against Stan’s lips; his braces are long gone, but Stan still imagines he'd felt something there, too.

“Least bears won’t eat me first if they find us out here.”

“Bears aren’t assholes like—” Stan begins, before gasping slightly at the intrusion of fingers underneath his shirt. At least Craig’s warm, unlike Kenny, whose fingers feel like the grasp of icy cold death even in summer. Stan leans further in, a small moan escaping his lips as Craig’s tongue flickers into his mouth, experimentally. It feels pretty gross, but in the way that he already ought to know what it feels like as a young man at the ripe old age of 25 who never learned his lesson about kissing a non-friend he doesn’t particularly hate.

He tries his best to maneuver around so that neither of them knock the shift stick over, pulling Craig down closer so they’re not knocking against each other’s noses when trying to breathe. Stan feels Craig’s fingers start exploring his shoulder bones rather enthusiastically, muscles pulled taut as Stan leans into the next kiss. His nails are surprisingly short, but it hurts all the same when Stan nips a particularly sensitive part of his lip and feels the resulting sharpness digging into his skin.

Stan moves down towards Craig’s neck, tracing his angular jawline with his nose as he works on getting that collar out of the way with his teeth. It’s gonna be hard to do anything more up front, but neither of them had been smart enough or patient enough to move all the shit out of the backseat first. Stan hears a break in the other’s voice as his tongue draws across Craig’s Adam’s apple, a tiny gasp. It's kind of riveting, hearing that.

“That’s hot,” he murmurs against Craig’s clavicle.

“You’re a hot—fucking— _mess_ , Marsh,” Craig replies between breaths, both arms wrapped so tightly around Stan now that he might just suffocate in here for all he knows. He's also starting to feel rather uncomfortable in these ugly, tiny ass uniform pants. _Park Ranger Found Dead in Car, Suspicious Markings on Body_ , he could already see it in the next day’s paper. He suppresses a laugh and proceeds to choke on his own spit as Craig goes for his ear, nipping it hard. “Seriously—”

“You’re one to…”

His next words die on his tongue as soon as he peeks up. They’ve lost most of the light by now, but he can see quite clearly familiar outlines standing outside the car. Right next to the open window, in fact. Stan could even see faint outlines of fur outlined by the sunset, from where he sits half-frozen.

“What?” and then, “Why are you—“

“You wanted wolves,” Stan says, slowly, struggling to stay still as Craig fidgets above him in confusion. One of the shadowy figures moves towards them, more curious than threatening, but the red reflect in their eyes tells Stan they’d better get going. “Um. They’re here.”

 

 

 

“‘ _Looks great_ ,’” Stan reads from the email on Craig’s phone. “ _‘incredible sense of motion u got there, looks rly different from ur usual style.'_ You’re not telling them what happened, are you.”

“Unlike you, I know how to stay quiet.”

“Yeah, tell that to yourself from an hour ago.”

“Fuck you.”

Craig reaches out with his long-ass arms and snatches his phone back, frowning. They’re parked outside the main office, where the lights are still on—a few staff members are still milling about inside, though the park’s ostensibly closed for the night. Stan yawns, the drowsiness finally starting to hit him.

“You’re not too bad,” he says, the words slipping from his tongue before he could catch them. Stan can’t see Craig too clearly in the dark, but he can certainly hear him smirk. “I, uh. That…wasn’t too bad.”

“Knock it off,” Craig says dryly. “I saved you from having to lay your desperation on the wolves for a couple more days.”

“Weak, dude, that’s disgusting—“

“Like you aren’t.” Still, there’s much less antagonism in his voice now than even this morning, and Stan considers that a win. Somewhat, because he’s still not really sure what he’s won except the bruises starting to form in several places on his upper torso. “Guess I’m heading back to whatever shithole hotel I came from now.”

“Don’t say that,” Stan purses his lips. He really has no idea where Craig’s staying. “You gotta go back tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“Not going back home for a bit?”

“Do _you_ go home?” Craig gives him a pointed look, and takes Stan’s silence as an answer. “Yeah, thought so. Nobody’s there right now anyway. Trish’s having exams.”

Stan looks at his feet. There's something in his words that make his stomach twist into a knot. “When’s your flight?”

“Ten in the morning.”

Even in the shitty office lighting Craig manages to look good, if still disheveled. They sit there in a not unpleasant silence, listening to the faint rustle of the wind outside. It really is kind of awkward having snipped at each other for three days only to end up here—Stan shakes his head, closing his eyes. Kenny would say it’s natural progression, but he’s never been one for soap operas. And now… “Oh.”

“ _Now_ you’re sad I’m leaving?”

“No! I mean—” Stan buries his face in his hands as Craig laughs quietly beside him. Somehow it manages to be enraging and endearing all at once. “Seriously, you’re still an asshole.”

“Glad to be of service,” Craig replies as he opens the door, letting a cool breeze swirl inside. He gets one leg out onto the ground before he looks back, hesitating for a moment. “You weren’t too bad either.”

Stan doesn’t watch Craig get in his ugly yellow rental, doesn’t listen to the revving of engines as he leaves. Well. DC’s nearly the entire country away, and that’s that.

He turns towards the passenger seat to palm around for anything Craig might’ve dropped, cigarettes maybe, but comes up with a crumpled gas receipt next to the seat-belt. There’s something written on the back; frowning, Stan takes out his phone.

 

571-112-3132

i’ll think about evergreen

 

“Wow,” Stan says aloud. He’s not sure Craig knows that he’s just got this car for the two days he’s playing chauffeur, and that if he’d not been—no, this is absolutely not a crush—fixated on cleaning any trace of their messing around out of the car, someone else would’ve discovered it there. Probably his boss, which would've been pretty terrible. But.

 _But_. It’s here in his hand, residual heat and all.

Stan could feel the smile grow on his face as he heads back to Moose in his own beat-up car, front windows rolled down even as the cold air skims across his cheeks. It’s a full moon night out here, illuminating the mountains as he passes them by. There’s a coyote or two howling something fierce as he passes the last gate, the sound traveling down the hills and up his spine. He wonders briefly if Craig had heard it too.

 

 

 

23:31  
_i cant believe yall got cockblocked by fucking WOLVES_  
_wonder if they find that hot_  
_also craig isnt a better kisser than me right_  
_im calling it_

 

 **Read** 23:35  
_why do i even bother telling you things  
_

 

23:45  
_because u love me? ;)_  
_i mean u love craig now but_

 

 **Read** 23:46  
_kenny just shut the fuck up_

**Author's Note:**

> don't take selfies with big wild animals! this has been a psa


End file.
